


WordGirl: Advanced

by idinathoreau



Category: WordGirl (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Gen, Meta, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, advanced, somewhat meta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-24 16:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16178546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idinathoreau/pseuds/idinathoreau
Summary: Becky Botsford (aka WordGirl) is now 22, and working as a bookstore clerk while finishing up her degrees in communication and library science. But ever since the show ended, she’s been feeling like things never quite wrapped up the way they were meant to. Now a new villain and a mysterious new hero are loose in her city and Becky’s struggling to understand who she is and where she is going. Sequel to the series with aged-up characters.





	1. Quotidian

This stain was going to take forever to get out. 

Becky dodged lithely but it wasn’t enough. The second spray of ketchup hit her square in the shoulder, marring her green sweater with an identical stain above her breasts.

Her companion stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth full of lettuce. “Ooops! Sorry, Becky!”

Becky Botsford sighed and picked up a napkin. “It’s alright Chad…it was an accident.” She dabbed at the first stain on her shoulder but it was already set. 

Her co-worker put down his condiment-dripping sandwich. “I swear I told them no ketchup this time…” He said with a sheepish look on his face, looking for more napkins. Becky rolled her eyes.

Chad handed her a wad of paper towels, still blushing in embarrassment. Becky thanked him with a wince and set to work ineffectually dabbing at the stains. She leaned back to avoid dripping any lingering ketchup on the large book open on the table in front of her. 

“It’s not going to come out…” Becky said flatly after a moment. 

“Try seltzer,” Chad suggested. “Maybe soak it overnight?”

“Maybe just soap will be enough.” She sat down again, moving her burrito away from her so she could briefly put her head down on the desk. The young woman heaved a heavy sigh. Already this day was shaping up to be rather terrible. A terrible, dull, ordinary day by any measure.

At 22, Becky Botsford, (a.k.a. WordGirl) liked to think she lived a properly normal life. Her growth spurt had hit her later in life than normal Earth females but it had been kind to her. She stood at a respectable 5’7”, with a lithe, athletic figure, a rounded but pretty face, slim hips, and a modest bust. Her hair had stubbornly refused to change, remaining much the same as it had when she was a kid. None of this betrayed or even suggested that she was actually a super-strong flying alien. Instead, she looked very much like what most people thought she was: a college student working towards a master’s degree with a steady job at a bookstore that paid marginally well. She had a roommate, a daily schedule, and a few hobbies. Among them, running off at inconvenient times to deal with whatever villain had decided to cause mischief that day. And sometimes, the sheer humdrum of so many similar days in a row was maddening.

Becky stood to seek out some soap or seltzer in the dim room behind the desk of the bookshop. Chad returned to his sandwich as she left. She used to love this place. It was a portal into the other worlds of the stories and legends she so loved as a child. But lately, since she’d been working here several days a week, she couldn’t stand all the little things about it: the creaky door hinge that set her teeth on edge, the musty smell of the bathroom, the shaky bookshelf that toppled over at the slightest touch (usually from her), and right now, the building’s utter lack of anything to preserve her dignity from this stain. As she lifted up a shipment of new books with one hand — hoping vainly that the soap was tucked under them — a familiar sound caught her very sensitive hearing: 

_“...this is a robbery! Get those hands in the air! Or taste my relish!”_

She sighed again, heavier this time. 

Apparently, today’s crime call had come. 

Becky dropped the books and exited the backroom, already inching towards the door to the street. “Hey listen Chad,” she said to her still-eating co-worker, “I need to step out for a second…”

Her co-worker looked up, in the process of wrapping his mouth around what remained of his sandwich. “Huh? Where’r you goin’?”

Becky struggled to find an excuse. “I uh…forgot about an appointment I have with the uh…nose doctor…!...so I have to uh…go…” Even as she said it, it sounded lame. You would think after years of thinking up spur-of-the-moment excuses, she’d be better at it by now. 

Chad’s brow furrowed in thought. “Oh, I thought you’d be going to wash the ketchup out of your shirt…”

Mentally, Becky facepalmed. “…Right, that too.” She waved. “See ya later!” She dashed out the door. As soon as she turned the corner, she leaped into the air, shedding her boring persona along with her sweater and skirt in a moment of pure exhilaration. Underneath was her skin-tight Lexicon jumpsuit in bright maroon, adorned with the golden star of her home planet. She pulled her matching hood down over her head and flew off at break-neck speed towards the source of the screams. 

“I wonder what Chuck is up to…” she pondered aloud. “He could be anywhere!” She glanced up at the sky, waiting. Everything was silent.

WordGirl mentally berated herself. “oh right, we don’t do that anymore.” She flew off, honing her hearing to locate the villain.

***

Less than 20 seconds later, WordGirl was hovering downtown, avoiding a ketchup blast of another kind. This time, it was from the condiment cannon of Chuck the Evil Sandwich-making Guy. 

She twisted midair, pulling in her legs to avoid the cursed condiment. 

Chuck growled, brandishing his gun. “Take that, WordGirl! And that!”

The superhero ripped a door off of a destroyed car to use as a shield. The ketchup missed her entirely this time. Good, she didn’t need to clean her superhero suit tonight as well… 

“Give up WordGirl!” Chuck shouted, spinning the canisters on his cannon. “You cant stop me from running off with this money!” He brandished the small bag of money at his side and took aim with his mustard cannon.

WordGirl made a flawless hairpin turn to dodge a spray of mustard and zipped around behind him. She crossed her arms. “Really, Chuck? Is such a small amount of money really worth all this trouble?”

Chuck whipped his gun around, “Of course it…wait…” He lowered the weapon, “what do you mean ‘small amount’?” All of his bluster was suddenly gone, replaced by a timid confusion.

WordGirl rubbed her throbbing temple, slowly drifting down to land on the pavement. “Okay, you’re gonna have to bear with me here…which word are you having trouble with; small or amount?”

Chuck’s brow wrinkled. “Neither, just…why is this,” he held up the bag “a ‘small amount?’”

WordGirl raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding right? It’s like, barely fifty dollars.”

“What?” Chuck ripped open the bag and peered inside, furiously counting under his breath.

WordGirl leaned against a streetlamp, crossing her arms impatiently. “Yeah, city hall doesn’t keep more than a few dozen dollars at any time because you guys keep trying to rob it.”

Completely disheartened, Chuck lowered the bag. “Oh…well I guess that’s smart…”

WordGirl sighed. “You really didn’t think of that after all these years? How many times have you robbed city hall?”

“Well, mostly I just try to crush it but…” he shook himself. “NO! Sorry I’m not some super-smart superhero from another planet! Us Earthlings aren’t nearly as good with figuring things out as you are!”

WordGirl paused, something about the way he said that resonating unexpectedly with her. “Actually my people were only really good with words…far as I know.” She replied.

Chuck switched back to ketchup, keeping WordGirl on her toes. She tensed but didn’t move yet. “What does that even mean? Was the whole planet just really smart with words like you?”

WordGirl blinked, unable to answer. Some half-formed thought was niggling at the back of her mind, preoccupying her attention. Chuck didn’t seem to notice and kept ranting, “…and it doesn’t matter WordGirl! I’m still going to escape with this money. I don’t care if I have to rob city hall five thousand times, I’m going to get enough to buy that Ultimate Sandwich-Maker 9000!” He aimed his gun at her and pulled the trigger for ketchup but it only clicked. “huh?”

Her concentration broken, WordGirl smiled ruefully. It seems her bad luck with ketchup had finally run out. 

She rose into the air again, triumphant. “Well, looks like you’re out of ketchup Chuck, so unless you have…whoa!”

Chuck had switched to relish, firing like a madman to try to cover his escape. Unfortunately for him, WordGirl had been able to dodge his first attack. The superhero darted around a building at breakneck speed and snuck up behind Chuck again, this time with the street lamp already bent into shape to trap him.

“Sorry Chuck,” she said, landing beside him as he struggled against the metal. “Looks like you’ll have to wait until you’re out of jail to try again.” The words sounded triumphant but her heart really wasn’t in it. Her mind was elsewhere. As usual. 

Chuck didn’t seem to notice. “Ohhh…” He sagged against his restraint as she took the bag from him and tossed it to a waiting police officer.

“Thanks, WordGirl.” The officer, a young blonde female said. “But in the future, do you think you could use something other than a street lamp? The mayor’s getting a little sick of replacing these so often.”

Chastised and a little put-out, WordGirl grimaced. “Right…sorry.” 

She was going to offer to straighten it back out once they got Chuck in handcuffs but a distant, familiar voice distracted her.

It was Chad, speaking above a din of chatter inside the shop: 

_“…I’m sure my co-worker will be back in a moment…hold on sir, I’ll be right with you!”_

WordGirl deflated. She had to get back to work. 

WordGirl turned back to Chuck as the police officer began to lead him away. “Listen Chuck, it’s been fun but I’ve got a lot to do so…”

He nodded in understanding. “Oh yeah, sure. Sure. No problem.”

WordGirl took off, her cape whipping behind her as she rushed back to work. Her job may be done but Becky had a busy rest of the day ahead of her…

***

One good thing about working in a bookstore was the unlimited supply of free books. Becky was still a voracious reader (a hobby helped by her ability to read at 20 times the speed of a human) and she devoured all the new books the second they came in. The other perk about working at a bookstore; no one batted an eye if you read on the job.

The mishap had been cleared up some time ago, mostly because once she returned from apprehending Chuck, her super-speed had covertly allowed her to fulfill every customer’s order in half the time Chad needed. As an added bonus, Chad had left early, claiming a headache after the afternoon rush.

Now the store was quiet, with only a few customers browsing near the mystery section. So Becky had grabbed her most recent book, a realistic fiction novel by Stephanie Queen based on a former mayor of Fair City and put her feet up on the desk while she read. Other than the fact that she turned pages more often than a normal reader, she looked just like a bored store clerk finishing a long shift. Not that she wasn’t also that.

The bell clanged and Becky glanced up. She scowled as the new customer entered but hid her expression behind her book. There were downsides to working in a bookstore. For instance: everyone eventually wandered in. Especially people you didn’t want to see.

“My, my Becky Botsford…” Drawled a snooty accent. “Still gainfully employed at the book shoppe I see…” She didn’t have to look up to know there was a condescending sneer on the customer’s face.

Becky turned a page, not removing her feet from their spot on the counter. “Hello Tobey. You still working out of mommy’s garage?”

She heard more than saw his indignation. “Yes. Just as assuredly as you’re still peddling books to the peasants.”

“Better than spending my days failing to repair DSLR servers.”

Tobey turned away but Becky could tell there was a small smile on his face. She was sporting one as well, hence the book hiding her mouth from view.

While before, Becky had barely been able to tolerate Tobey McCallister — and his obsession with WordGirl — something had shifted in high school, with the two of them often competing for top grades in their language and lit classes. Tobey hadn’t been able to stand that Becky consistently knew more about the English language than she did.

Tobey cleared his throat and Becky glanced up at him once more. “Did you actually need something or are you just here to annoy me?” She asked.

Tobey rolled his eyes. “I need a book.” He replied tersely, standing on tiptoe to peer at the display alongside the counter. Becky eyed him suspiciously.

While he’d always been short, Tobey had put on several inches since the time they were kids and was now just under 6 feet tall. He was still scrawny as a toothpick with a mop of unruly blonde hair and glasses. Only now, the hair seemed more purposefully unruly and the glasses were a respectable size for his face. His wardrobe had barely changed, mostly involving a sweater vest and whatever pants he deemed appropriate for the day. Today it was a faded pair of khaki cargo pants stained with streaks of old oil. 

“Smart of you to come to a bookshop.” Becky returned, still not putting her book down.

Tobey’s eyes narrowed, but a smirk played along his lips. “Terrible customer service, Botsford. Don’t make me report you to your manager.”

Becky made a show of sighing dramatically and turning the next page in her book. “Fine. Which self-help manual did you want?”

“None of them.” Tobey replied. “I require Dr. Steven Boxleightener’s opus on superheroes.”

Becky actually lowered her book at his request. “…Why?” Her heart was thrumming in her chest. Thankfully, Tobey couldn’t hear it.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Envious are we? If you must know, I require it as a reference for a job.”

Normally, Becky would’ve returned his haughty answer with a quick quip of her own about his work. With his unparalleled intellect, Tobey had been offered scholarships to several of the country’s most prestigious schools. But one robot mishap after another had yanked the opportunities straight out of his hands, sending him right back into his mother’s garage, where he ran a small sometimes-profitable mechanical and technological repair shop. 

But she couldn’t bring herself to dismiss him and his job today, not while it was this unusual. “Not at all.” She kept her tone light as she plucked the book from the shelf behind her: _Superheroes and You: A Practical Guide_. The superhero section was displayed prominently in the store, ever since WordGirl had saved it from incineration at the hands of three separate villains. “It’s just not like you to just take random contracts…” she continued, “…especially for superheroes.”

Tobey shrugged. “Sometimes you just need a change of pace…something to break up the monotony of everyday sucking worse than the last.” Something in the way he said that made her unexpectedly drop her guard.

“Yeah…I know what you mean…” She muttered, ringing up the book on the register.

“Do you?” She stiffened as she realized he’d heard her. Tobey scoffed. “That’s a first.”

“Hardly.” 

They stared each other down for a moment, each daring the other to try to have the final say. Becky saw Tobey’s scowl but she could also see the energetic glint in his eye. He was enjoying this kind of banter. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t also love this.

It had been like this back in school too. As debate after debate and contest after contest often left them alone on the stage, a grudging respect had arisen sometime between the Quiz Bowl of sophomore year and the Mock Debate of senior year.

Now they were merely casual rivals: the only people in this city who could challenge each other intellectually. 

And the only people of their caliber not to make it out.

After a second of quiet competition, Tobey slid several bills onto the counter as payment. “Thank you, Becky.” He said, picking up his new book.

Becky nodded curtly. “Anytime Tobes…” she reclined back in her chair, picking up Queen’s book again as he retreated. Just as he reached the door, she muttered: “…try not to break the next laptop you get your hands on.” She grinned when he stiffened momentarily before leaving the shop.

She’d gotten the last word this time.


	2. Prurient

Becky made it home two hours after the run-in with Tobey, after finishing up her shift at the bookstore. She flew rather than wait for the bus, looking forward to finally changing out of her ketchup-stained sweater. 

She landed at the front gate, a huge wrought-iron structure that, despite its offered security was always open. The enormous old house loomed in the background, but rather than a dark figure, it felt more like a huge, doofy dog waiting for the right moment to bound over and lick your face. 

Instead of flying right to the front door, Becky walked up the long pathways through the front gardens. It was calming and helped her slow down, especially after using her super-speed. The first few times she’d flown right into the house, she’d sent her roommate into a panic. 

Even though she still lived in Fair City and attended the local community college, City University, she no longer lived at the Botsford homestead. The public transportation schedules from her parents’ house were too inconvenient for her commute to campus and — despite her ability to render the need of public transportation unnecessary — she had to keep up human appearances for the sake of her identity. Plus, the notion of living with her best friend was one she had jumped at. 

The front door was made of sturdy oak wood but carved into pleasant animal and plant shapes, courtesy of the artistic talents of her roommate. Becky unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Violet!” She called out, her voice echoing through the studio layout of the first floor. “I’m home!” She could hear Violet’s heartbeat with her super-hearing in the second-floor art studio. 

After three years of living here, it really did feel like home. This old house had been creepy and in complete disrepair when Violet had bought it but after some structural and cosmetic changes (completed in record time, thanks to WordGirl’s super-speed), it was a hallmark of modern living. The first floor contained their kitchen, living room with a complete entertainment system, a modest library, an office for Becky’s grad school use, and a painting studio for Violet’s work. The second floor had their separate bedrooms, 2 and ½ baths, Violet’s sculpting studio and Becky’s WordGirl training room. 

It was rather large for just the two of them but they didn’t mind. The house was now their sanctuary. Becky had offered to pay Violet rent or at least room and board for her residence but her long-time friend had refused. She had more money than she knew what to do with, Violet reasoned. Why would she need Becky’s hard-earned money when Becky needed it for her tuition? 

The circumstances under which Violet had purchased the house were still a bit of an amazing bit of fortune that the girls sometimes discussed at length appreciatively. Violet’s mother was not very wealthy but did pretty well for them as a single-parent artist raising a daughter. Violet’s aunt, however, had played the stock market and played it well. The stock for ceramic cat-shaped mugs had gone through the roof and Aunt Fortuna had made a rather large fortune. She had eventually had to skip the country to avoid a legal kerfuffle surrounding possible insider trading but to everyone’s surprise, she had left Violet’s family a sizable chunk of her money. Violet’s mom had promptly used part of her share to move to the mid-west where she was happily teaching performance art to protesters in the desert. She had left any of their remaining funds to Violet, who had opted to stay behind to finish school and be near her friends. Next thing Becky knew, Violet had bought this house and asked her long-time friend to live with her. Becky had never regretted that decision. 

“Violet?” Becky called, placing her bag down at the kitchen island and setting about preparing a quick dinner. “I know you’re here, I can hear your heartbeat.”

Said heartbeat accelerated, accompanied by the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs. 

“Coming!” Her roommate called, her typical airy and carefree voice drifting down the stairs before her. “My hands were full working on the latest piece for the hamburger sculpture exhibit.”

“Right…of course.” Becky rolled her eyes, making a mental note to write down when that exhibit was. That was the perfect opening for the Butcher to plan a strike. She sliced up several vegetables and popped them into a bag of microwavable rice. A quick, mindless dinner for a day she’d rather forget. That thought was still forming in the back of her mind, taking up most of her attention.

Her best friend sailed into the room, accompanied by the pungent smell of raw meat. She smiled but almost immediately her face morphed into an expression of horror.

“Oh my gosh! Becky, what happened?”

“Huh?” Becky glanced down at herself, at the multiple dark brown ketchup stains on her sweater. She realized the reason for the concern immediately. “Oh,”

Violet was already moving, tugging down the hospital-grade first aid kit she kept in the kitchen. “Sit down, now!” She demanded, pushing Becky towards the stools at the kitchen bar.

Becky tried to fend her off but her old friend wasn’t having it. “Violet, relax! It’s not blood, it’s ketchup.”

Violet waved a hand, not abandoning her frantic attitude even with the knowledge that Becky wasn’t hurt. “Whatever it is, get over here! I have some seltzer somewhere, I’ll get it out.”

Becky pulled off her sweater, revealing the top of her superhero outfit underneath. To her credit, Violet didn’t even blink at it. She was used to her roommate and best friend wearing her costume around the house. It was part of the reason they lived alone on the outskirts of the city.

Becky pretended not to notice that Violet quietly searched her for wounds as she took the sweater from Becky and put it in the sink to soak.

“I’m really fine Violet,” Becky told her, leaning on the marble countertop. “It’s just ketchup. Chuck was trying to rob City Hall. And Chad got ketchup on his sandwich. Again.”

Violet was silent as she fussed with the first aid kit, laying things out on the counter that she had used more times than Becky had. Her face was screwed up in focus. 

“Violet please…” Becky begged as gently as she could, “I’m fine.”

Violet finally paused and sighed. “I…I just. You worry me, you know?” She finally put down the kit and looked at her friend. “What if one day you get really hurt? Or you need help but no one’s there to help you?”

“Huggy will always be there for me,” Becky assured her. “And there’s always Kid Math too…”

Violet was still quiet and fidgety. For the first time all day, Becky found herself completely focused on the conversation, not looking for an escape.

With how much Violet worried about WordGirl’s exploits, Becky was concerned about what affect her other persona was having on her best friend. Violet had always been a pacifist but never a worrier. Once Becky’s true identity had been revealed to her however, she had adopted a mindset of near-constant worry around WordGirl’s actions. All through high school, she’d insisted on checking up on Becky after every tussle and deed. She’d eventually calmed down but after particularly tough fights, sometimes she regressed into that worry-wart phase and doted on her friend endlessly. Becky didn’t mind it most of the time, but for things like this, it could get a little aggravating. And make her feel guilty. 

“You do know I’m indestructible, right?” Becky reminded her as Violet began running the sink to wash her sweater. “I’ve never broken a bone or gotten worse than a few bruises during fights.” She meant it to sound teasing but Violet apparently didn’t catch her tone. 

“Yes, but you can’t be too careful.” Violet stubbornly replied, plucking a bottle of seltzer from the cabinet. “and what if you run into Lexonite again? You’re helpless around that space stuff.” She poured the seltzer into the water. The concoction let out a hiss and bubbled slightly.

Becky shivered. “Not…completely helpless…” Her protest was without much gusto. She still had nightmares about the time that the meteorite had crashed into the city and she been unable to fight back. Even her colossal vocabulary had failed her. 

“But you don’t know anything about that stuff!” Violet reminded her, pulling on rubber gloves and starting to scrub at the stains in Becky’s sweater. “Who’s going to teach you about what to do around Lexonite?”

The thought at the back of her mind returned, stronger and more fully-formed than before.

Becky’s face tightened, her eyes narrowing in focus.

Violet watched. “Another crime?” She asked, when it seemed like Becky was done honing her super-hearing. 

Becky nodded, standing up and shedding her skirt. “Yeah, sounds like someone’s trying to stage a prison break. I better go make sure they don’t, I have a lot of studying to do this week.” She shot Violet an apologetic look as she pulled on her gloves and hood. “Save dinner for me?”

Violet smiled sadly. “I always do…” 

Becky nodded. “Thanks!” She dashed to the kitchen window, which was conveniently person-sized and easy to open. Pressing two fingers to her chest, she took off.

“Word-up!”

Becky sprang through the window, the evening air whipping past her. She sped up and out over the city skyline, leaving her mundane life behind again. The weight of her lie settled in her lower gut, keeping her from fully enjoying her flight. She and Violet kept no secrets from each other, not since Violet had learned she was WordGirl at the end of the show and it had put their whole friendship through the wringer. They shared everything now. 

But, WordGirl reasoned with herself, this wasn’t a secret. It was just personal. She didn’t share her sexual fantasies with Violet. Neither of them needed to know that about the other. 

And this — while no sexual fantasy — felt just as private.

So that was how she justified this little white lie. There was nothing happening at the prison. Besides, people escaped nearly every day. If they really wanted to fix it, they should give the city more money for an upgrade. 

No, she had only needed to lie so that Violet wouldn’t press her for details about what she was actually doing.

Now far on the outskirts of the city, Becky dove towards the earth. Her enormous red and gold spaceship was still parked in its crater in the earth, where it had crashed nearly 20 years ago. Her other sanctuary.

She entered through the roof hatch, sliding slightly on the polished floors of the only piece of her home planet she had. Inside was quiet, the lights flickering to life as she entered. Her giant computer hummed to life but remained blank, awaiting input. It had been a while since she’d last been here.

Over the years, her spaceship had become a little less of a playground and more of a training ground and command center. The trampoline had been replaced with resistance bands for honing her strength, the unicorns with martial arts posters. She retained a few of her old things in the bowels of the ship, more for nostalgia than anything else. Nowadays, she had too much work to do to really play. 

She walked towards another room of her hideout, one she had only entered a few times. Her own library. 

Well, technically it was the ship library but since she had the ship, she assumed it was hers. 

Becky shuddered as she entered the room. She hardly ever went in here if she could help it. The only other time she’d spent a long time in here was to study on how to defeat Miss Power, a mean-spirited alien who had once come to Earth and tried to corrupt her. Huggy had given her a book of secret fighting moves that had helped her chase the invader away without throwing a punch or using a single mean word. There was powerful knowledge in here. And despite her usual affinity for books, these terrified her.

The library was located just below the central console of the ship and formed a perfectly cylindrical room. A bookcase covered every wall, sagging under the weight of the tomes they contained. Four stone statues guarded these: a broad-shouldered man in a suit much like hers posing triumphantly, a skinnier, bespectacled man with a high collar in a similar pose, a cloaked man with a curled mustache wearing a book-shaped hat, and a woman in another super-suit posing with her hands on her hips. On the ceiling was a bright mural full of smiling men and women flying past domed cities backlit by a stunning red sky, holding books in their hands. A few monkeys popped out of the mural as well, holding more books. 

Becky crossed the room on quiet feet until she reached the massive computer in the center of the room that was shaped like all the renderings she had seen of Lexicon: a fat red planet adorned with a gold star and circled by two rings. She slipped a little as she landed on top of the computer and waved her arms wildly to regain her balance. A hot blush spread across her face, even though she knew the statues couldn’t see her. This room made her uneasy, as if the statues and murals upon the wall were looking down on her, comparing her to themselves. Everyone looked so knowledgeable, so wise. As if they knew something she didn’t. 

Well, that was what libraries were for, weren’t they? Discovering something others knew.

Becky floated off of the globe, scanning the walls for titles. Something had crossed her mind during her battle with Chuck today. Then again when Violet had been asking her about Lexonite. In reality, it had been gnawing on her for months, perhaps, subconsciously, even years. But there was something about today that had forced it to the forefront of her mind.

She really didn’t know much about her homeworld, her people, her own culture. And if something else were to come from her home planet, or from another planet, she would have no idea how to face it. Miss Power had proved that. 

After several minutes of scanning, Becky sighed in frustration. The Lexiconian books were of little help, even with her flawless word knowledge, her search was proving difficult by title alone:

_The Holistic Health of the Lexicon System_

_A Concise History of Planetary Resources_

_Lexonite Quarry Productivity Year 2104_

_Synonyms Vs. Antonyms; Why the Hostilities?_

_Knick-knacks and Widgets: Innovation to Endure_

Becky plucked this last one off of the shelf and tried to flip it open, only to find it wasn’t actually a book. Intrigued, she turned it over. It was shaped like a book, but where there should have been pages, instead there were metal lines, almost like a USB. 

She floated down to the computer, searching the back for an insert slot or reader. She circled the globe several times but came up blank, even after running her hand all over looking for latches or buttons. 

Dismayed, she darted back to the shelf, higher up this time and picked up a book entitled: _Hexagonians and the Red Planet: Everything Necessary to Know_. It too lacked pages. So did the next three she tried.

Becky held the first book thoughtfully, biting the inside of her cheek as she considered her options. So it appeared that all the “books” in this library were useless unless she could find something to read them. But she had no idea how to find such an apparatus since she had no knowledge of Lexiconian technology. 

Becky sat down heavily on the computer again, huffing in frustration. Here she was, surrounded by knowledge of her home planet and her people, and unable to read any of it! 

Wait. 

Becky nearly kicked herself for not realizing it sooner. She floated in front of the computer screen and booted it up. 

An empty dialogue box opened up on the screen, blinking at her expectantly. 

“Find other pieces of technology from Lexicon.” She told it. “Scan entire solar system.” 

Her words appeared in the box, followed by several blinking lights. Several seconds later, more words appeared underneath.

_Excluding current location, one other active piece found._

“Give me the location.”

The computer typed out the coordinates. Becky stared at them for several seconds, trying to figure out why they seemed so familiar. 

When it finally clicked, her eyes widened. “No way…why on Earth would he have it?”

***

Violet watched Becky go, her concern marring her face.

Becky had seemed distracted lately; maybe it was the uptick in crime or her upcoming midterms. Whatever it was, Violet wished Becky would talk to her about it. How else could she help? But with Becky Botsford, getting information was like pulling teeth. The desire to hide a part of herself had never really faded, even with the Revelation (as Violet referred to the day she’d discovered Becky’s secret).

Her phone vibrated, indicating a text. Violet pulled the device towards her. When she saw who the message was from, she smiled.
    
    
    Just finished. Can I come over?

Violet replied, already moving towards a shower.
    
    
    WG just stepped out. Attempted prison break, may take a while...

The reply came instantly.
    
    
    Be there in ten

Ten minutes later, practically on the dot, there was a knock at the door. Drying her hair furiously after a lightning-fast shower, Violet raced to it and threw herself into waiting arms. 

The visitor held her firmly. “Hey.”

Violet looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest. “Scoops.”

Her and Becky’s old friend Todd “Scoops” Ming smiled and leaned down to meet her. They kissed deeply, a familiar sensation that they both craved. Violet smiled into the kiss but found her joy had faded when they broke apart. 

“What is it?” Scoops asked, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. 

Violet sighed as she led him inside. “We need to talk about Becky.”

His face fell. “Is it time?”

Violet nodded. “I think it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to the 5 people actually reading this! I wanted to do a short-ish follow-up to the WordGirl tv series and a warm-up for NaNoWriMo so here's a thing. Should update fairly regularly...but that's what I always say.


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